


slow motion double vision in rose blush

by Fionakevin073



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate Sex, Lawyers, Secret Relationship, it's all about the angst and mutual pining, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29869395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionakevin073/pseuds/Fionakevin073
Summary: “I could never be like you,” he says, near accusingly. “I could never do what you do.”She leans against the door.“Oh Samuel,” she sighs, with mock like disappointment. “You see the world so simply.”“Some things are just that simple,” he returns.Her lips curl up. He wants to wipe it right off her face, wants to make her expression falter, wants to smear her lipstick off with his tongue. He burns with it.Or: Where Samuel is a prosecutor, Carla is a defence lawyer and they fall in love anyway.
Relationships: Ander Muñoz/Omar Shana, Carla Rosón Caleruega/Samuel García Domínguez, Guzmán Nunier Osuna/Nadia Shana, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> LOL idek what this is but I fell back into the Elite rewatch rabbit hole and remembered how much I loved these two. This short but (hopefully) sweet, and I assume this will only be a few more chapters. This is a common fanfiction trope, and I was inspired by a lot of those works and couldn't help but use it for this couple. I hope you guys enjoy! I'm a shitty smut writer, so I set this at a tentative mature rating, but maybe it'll go to explicit. Who knows? I hope u guys enjoy! 
> 
> Until next time,   
> Fionakevin073

**_after_ **

“Samuel,” She gasps, sliding her hands into his hair as he clutches her closer. “Samuel.”

He can’t bite back his groan at the motion and buries his face into the side of her neck. She smells of cinnamon and vanilla, of sweat and expensive perfume, and he can’t help but bite down on the smooth skin, reveling in the way her breath hitches.

“Samuel,” she breathes again, voice heavy.

He loves it when her voice is like this. Low. Uninhibited. Lacking the careful coolness she has perfected in every single other aspect of her life. She grabs a hold of his chin, and tilts it upwards, and without even thinking of it he surges forward. The kiss is brutal, passionate _dangerous._

As a matter of fact, this whole thing is dangerous. The sex, the conversations, _them._ It’s dangerous. Forbidden.

And yet he is still here. They both are. They have come back time and time again, like moths being drawn to the flame.

“More,” she murmurs, clutching, biting, tugging him _closer, closer,_ as they move against each other. “Now. _Samuel—”_

“Carla,” he groans, pleasure hot-white and blinding.

**_Before_ **

The thing is Samuel _likes_ working at the Prosecutor’s office. He likes being an assistant DA to Azucena, his boss, who is determined and orderly and wise. It took him two years after high school to save enough for university. Two years of constant pizza deliveries and waitressing and other jobs here and there as he helped out with rent and struggled to save up for school.

But he managed to do it. He managed to save enough to go to school and become a lawyer like he’s always wanted, joining Guzman and Rebe, his high school friends, at the Prosecutor’s office.

“We are like the three musketeers,” Rebe says, when he finally joins them after graduating two years later than they did.

And it was. They all work on cases together, and Samuel finally feels like he’s in sync with them, with all his friends – Omar, Ander and Nadia included. Omar and Nadia he’d known since pre-school, Guzman, Ander and Rebe he met at the private school he and Nadia got a scholarship to when a roof fell on top of their heads.

Ander, Guzman and Rebe were rich, Nadia got a scholarship and Omar’s parents had saved enough money to send him to school, so they were set.

It was only Samuel who fell behind.

So he throws himself into his work to try and catch up, to be recognized, to be seen, to do his job and go after criminals like he’s wanted to do since he was a little kid, and he saw the people around him be screwed by the upper class again and again and again.

He likes his job, that’s true. He loves it, even.

He interacts with many people from many different firms and offices and departments and—

Samuel becomes aware of her on a Tuesday.

He’s late to the courtroom that day and is rushing, sweaty and face red when he bumps into someone on his way in and hurriedly calls out an apology over his shoulder as he rushes into the court room, trying to hide his panting.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Rebe, running a hand through his hair.

It takes him a moment to realize that she and Guzman are not staring at him, but at someone over his shoulder. He shifts, follows their gaze to find a remarkably young blonde woman walk over to the other two defence co-counsels.

“Shit,” Rebe swears under her breath.

The blonde is perhaps the most beautiful girl Samuel has ever seen, is dressed to the nines, hair carefully pulled up, lips painted red like warpaint.

Rebe turns to Guzman.

“I thought it was only going to be Lucrezia and Polo,” she hisses at him.

Guzman, whose jaw has locked, shrugs.

“I guess we both heard wrong.”

Samuel has become acquainted with Lucrezia and Polo mostly through glaring at each other at the other sides of the courtroom and arguing over witnesses and evidence, but Guzman – Guzman knew them from the school he went to before he transferred when his sister died to the other best prep school in the country.

Rich people.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel says. “Who is she?”

Rebe scowls.

“The most cold-hearted bitch you’d ever meet,” she snarks, spinning her swivel chair.

Samuel glances at Guzman.

“Carla,” his friend tells him. “She went to my school.”

Somehow, Samuel knows it’s more than that, judging by their reactions.

Soon after, the Judge enters the room, and Guzman and Rebe turn to face him, but Samuel—

Samuel glances back at the defence, at Carla, and catches himself doing so again and again and again, before eventually Guzman and Rebe begin their case. His friends are good lawyers, that’s for sure. Passionate, energetic. Rebe is snarky yet professional with instincts like a shark. Guzman is intense, charismatic, eager to prove his point.

The case is about a murder. The prosecution argues that it was first degree. The defence states it was a crime of passion. The prosecution has the evidence and the witnesses and Samuel is sure, no, he knows they are going to win.

The defence – Lucrezia and Polo – he’s seen in action before. They’re smart and capable, he’ll give them that, if a bit smug. But Guzman and Rebe are better. He’s sure of it.

But then, it isn’t Lurecrezia or Polo who stands up to make the defence’s opening statement, it’s her. She smooths out the non-existent wrinkles in her blue pencil skirt and approaches the Judge with slow, even steps. Her hands do not tremble. Her shoulders do not hunch. Her voice does not skip a beat or shake with excitement or nerves, despite only having two years of experience. No, she is calm, cool, collected.

No—she is hypnotic.

“The prosecution will try,” she begins, staring right at the judge, emphasizing the word _try_ without being too obvious, “to prove that my client is a cold-hearted murder. They will try, and fail, because they do not have the evidence to support such falsehoods.”

She says it simply, naturally, as if she were pointing out that the sky is blue. Her tone leaves no room for argument, and Samuel feels his heart drop to the depths of his stomach, feels his surety begin to tremble and crumble as she finishes her opening statement.

_Oh shit,_ he thinks, watching as she returns to her chair, unable to look away. _Oh shit._

-

Her name is Carla Roson Caleruega, and she is twenty-four years old and perhaps the most feared defence attorney in all of Madrid. She studied at some ivy league school in the U.S. before she returned home, Samuel later finds out, after Guzman and Rebe had told Azucena of the recent change of events.

_She’s always been cold;_ Guzman tells him after that first day. _Cold and smart. I swear, nothing ever fazed her, even when we were kids._

_She makes witnesses cry and Judge’s tremble. She could even get the devil off the hook if she wanted to. You could spit in her face and her expression wouldn’t even change, not one bit._

_She’s taken the legal world by storm, is rumoured to be taking over her dad’s law firm despite how young she is._

Samuel had read one of her dad’s papers in college regarding how the right to a defence and bail no matter how heinous the crime and he had thought it was a bunch of _bullshit._ Dismissed it as yet another rich, amoral asshole trying to save his own skin and use the system to his advantage, even in academia.

Samuel, despite everything, views the world a little naively. If the case against the defendant is good, if it is so overwhelmingly obvious that they are guilty, it’s only logical that they should be imprisoned. He knows that’s not always the case, that rich guys higher some fancy lawyer and get off the hook. He’s seen it in the news so many times, has experienced it first-hand.

But he’s never seen the process of someone tricking a judge or jury into thinking someone is innocent firsthand.

He watches from the gallery as the prosecution and defence trade shots back and forth, observes with growing helplessness as Carla picks apart tiny minute weaknesses in the prosecution’s case until they are large, gaping wounds that no bandage could ever cover.

It’s horrible and brilliant at the same time.

She’s magnetic really, in some awful, strangely addicting way, and Samuel can’t help but get sucked in, even though he disagrees with each and every one of her points, he can admit that she argues them well.

“Fucking shit,” Rebe swears later in the elevator. “That fucking Marquessita. She always manages to twist everything—everything! In a full proof case.”

Samuel watches her sympathetically, understands her anger and shares it, even if he is less vocal with it. He watches as his friend slams her hands against the wall.

“I swear, I need a drink after today,” she mumbles, rubbing at the red skin.

“Or a hundred.”

Rebe laughs as she elevator pulls to a stop.

“I need to get laid too,” she says, shaking her head. “Best way to destress after being in a courtroom all fucking day.”

The doors open as she finishes her sentence, revealing all three members of the defence. Rebe scowls as she moves beside Samuel to make room for them.

_Great,_ he thinks, trying to ignore the nauseating false smile on Lucrezia’s face.

“How are you feeling?” Lucrezia asks them, voice sugary sweet. “I mean, it must be difficult knowing you are doing to lose.”

Samuel ignores her, silently urges Rebe to do the same. His friend has always been more willing for conflict than him – especially outside the courtroom.

“How about you just shut your mouth, eh?” Rebe retorts.

Lucrezia sighs.

“How vulgar,” she says. “I really do wonder how they let you get your degree – I mean really, if you can get one, then I’m really worried—”

“Lu,” Carla admonishes quietly, staring at her colleague.

Surprisingly, Lucrezia listens, though only after a notable roll of her eyes and a loud huff.

Samuel feels the tension rolling off of Rebe in waves, nudges his friend in order to try and loosen her up, smiles at her slightly when she catches his gaze. They all get off on the same floor, and Samuel almost jumps when his hand accidentally brushes against someone else’s as he goes through the doors.

“Sorry,” he says, freezing slightly when he catches sight of Carla.

She nods, flexing her hand as she wordlessly walks away.

_Fuck,_ he thinks, not for the first time. _Fuck._

When the verdict comes in, a mere day after the prosecution and defense rests their case, Samuel is not even surprised. He clenches the dark material of his pants, grits his teeth as he struggles not to yell at the judge.

Because it isn’t fair. The case was foolproof, and they still lost anyway because Carla was too good at her job. He glances over at the defence table as Guzman and Rebe clap each other on the back comfortingly as they make talk of appealing the decision.

Samuel hums in acknowledgement, but his attention is on her, on the way she neatly packs her documents into her black leather briefcase. He spends so long looking at her that it takes him a moment to realize that she’s staring at him right back, brows arched as if daring him to say anything.

He watches her go with a growing pit in his stomach.

\--

As a rule, Samuel tries not to go day drinking, especially on weekdays, but after the day they’ve just had he can’t help but agree to go with Guzman for a few drinks. It’s an expensive bar, the kind Guzman’s parents no doubt introduced their son to, but Samuel can at least appreciate the good booze despite how it drains his bank account.

Rebe had begged off in favour of going to hit a punching bag for a few hours, not that Samuel could blame her.

“Shit,” Guzman sighs, massaging his temple. “Shit.”

Samuel grumbles in agreement, takes another sip out of his drink. They’re interrupted by the sound of Guzman’s phone ringing, and Samuel observes as his friend talks to Nadia, promising to be home soon.

“Sorry man,” Guzman tells him, reaching into his wallet and throwing some money on the table. “But I gotta go.”

Samuel chuckles lightly.

“Tell Nadia I say hi,” he says, waving his hand around.

Guzman smiles at him fondly.

“This happens sometimes, Samu,” he comments. “And it sucks. But there’s always the appeal.”

Samuel wonders if his friend truly believes that, but he smiles at him anyway, waves at him on his way out.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there by himself, nursing away at his drink, when he glances up at the bar and spots _her._

A rush of anger suddenly overwhelms him as he studies her sitting alone, sipping slowly at her drink, her briefcase nowhere to be found. Before he can think better on it, and it must be noted that Samuel would almost never do this sober, he slaps some money down on the table to cover his tab and stalks over towards her, sliding into the bar stool on her side.

“You’re the new guy,” she says, studying him closely. “At the prosecutor’s office.”

“Samuel,” he offers. He glances at her drink, chuckles darkly when he recognises it because of Guzman.

“That comes at a hundred euros a bottle,” he says, bouncing his leg. “Practically illegal.”

“Not illegal,” she corrects. “Just expensive.”

Her casual tone infuriates him even more.

“Are you happy?” Samuel demands, slightly buzzed and thriving on self-righteous anger.

She glances at him, unfazed.

“About what?”

Samuel feels his face grow even redder.

“About that man you helped free today,” he continues furiously. “He’s a violent criminal, and you got him off the hook.”

Her eyebrows raise slightly, as if surprised by his anger and frustration.

“Ah,” she says shortly. “That.”

“Yes,” Samuel retorts. “That. He deserves to be in jail.”

“Not according to the judge.”

Samuel can’t help but scoff.

“Right. I forgot. If you’re rich you can get away with anything.”

Her expression doesn’t flinch as she finishes her drink in one straight gulp.

“Can I offer you some advice?”

“Let me guess, I should become a defence attorney instead.”

“Well, you’d definitely get paid more,” she tells him. Samuel almost laughs, though he knows she is not trying to be funny.

Her gaze flickers down to wrinkled shirt, his loosened tie, the sleeves he has rolled up to his elbows. Almost instantly, Samuel feels a spark of heat at the back of his spine. He can’t read her gaze, but all at once he’s aware of how close they are. He’s not sure when it happened, but his knee grazes her thigh.

She leans in, so close her breath tickles his ear as she whispers, “You need to get better at losing. Because you are going to. A lot.”

Her hair brushes against his shoulder as she pulls back, a small smirk playing on her red-painted lips. Almost instantly, currents of electricity run through his fingertips.

“Oh, am I?” he asks.

His anger has become a distant thing—throbbing in the background, but no longer burning in his veins.

She nods slowly.

“You are.”

Carla stands up and walks away slowly. Samuel watches her, is unable to look away from her, when she pauses in her step, and glances back at him, so discreetly he almost thinks he was imagining it. And Samuel—

He can list a thousand reasons, no, a _million_ reasons why he shouldn’t follow her, why he should just stay still.

He follows her.

Tension boils in his stomach when he notes that she does not appear surprised that he does when she finally comes to a stop near the entrance of the bathrooms.

“I could never be like you,” he says, near accusingly. “I could never do what you do.”

She leans against the door.

“Oh Samuel,” she sighs, with mock like disappointment. “You see the world so simply.”

“Some things are just that simple,” he returns.

Her lips curl up. He wants to wipe it right off her face, wants to make her expression falter, wants to smear her lipstick off with his tongue. He burns with it.

“You know, I will sleep like a baby tonight,” she comments. “I did my job. I did it well.”

Samuel looks away.

“If I’m going to do anything, I’m going to be good at it. It’s something you and your team should learn.”

He stalks up to her before he even realises what he’s doing, gets so close to her that their chests brush. Samuel can feel the warmth of her skin through his shirt. He puts his hands on either side of her head, leans against them. Their noses brush. He glances down at her lips.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asks.

Her breath smells of alcohol and strawberries. He wonders if she’d taste like that too.

“Samuel,” she whispers. She’s beautiful even up close, and not once do her walls fall.

Without even thinking of it, Samuel slams his lips onto hers so forcefully her head smacks against the wall gently. Despite that, she doesn’t seem surprised. She returns his determination equally, parts her legs so he can even be closer to her, so their stomachs align with each other.

Samuel almost moans at the feeling. Comes near close to it. He pulls away, starts to bite, kiss and suck his way down her neck and collarbones before she pushes him away.

Samuel feels dizzy as she moves further into the bathroom, revealing the empty stall. He steps into the small space with her, doesn’t flinch when she pushes the door closed with a loud _click._

She shoves him down onto the toilet seat, and the dent in his pants is more than painful. He grunts when she slides onto his lap, straddling him with legs on either side of his waist.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, spine tingling as she reaches for his zipper and begins to pull it down.

The alcohol in his veins has dulled. If anyone were to find out about it, he could say he was drunk, that his judgement was clouded, or something along those lines. But all the details are suddenly sharpened and crystal clear. He’s hyper aware of the softness of her hair, the hand she places on his shoulder to balance herself as she pulls down his pants.

“Girls like you never go for guys like me.”

When she meets his eyes, Samuel recognises the challenge in them.

“What do you know about girls like me?” she asks, sinking down.

After, when they’re done, Samuel leans his head back against the wall, panting loudly. He feels her reach for some toilet paper and clean herself up carefully, before clambering off of him, throwing away the paper in the bin. He watches as she goes to the mirror and looks into her reflection, wiping away any creases or smudges she might find.

He summons the strength to stand, begins to rearrange his clothing, smoothen out his hair, all the while keeping his gaze on the floor. He isn’t sure what he wants to say. Caught somewhere between _we shouldn’t do this again_ and _let’s go back to my place and do that a hundred more times and—_

“Your friend was right,” Carla says, door half open. “Sex is a good way to kill energy.”

And then she leaves, because of course she does.

-

Samuel sees her again. He sees her down the hall, entering judge’s rooms, conversing with her colleagues. More often than not, he sees her on the other side of the courtroom, hair straight, makeup polished, clothes unruffled.

It’s hard to stay mad at someone when you’ve come inside them in a bathroom at a bar, and as much as Samuel tries _not_ to think about it, lately it’s all he has been able to think about. He spends much of the next two weeks waiting for one of his friends to pounce on him, pale and shocked, whispering _I know_ and _I saw you._

It doesn’t happen, but he still fears it, because what can he say? He— _they_ crossed a line. Relationships between prosecutors and defense attorneys never work out. Everyone knows that. It’s messy and morally conflicting and--

He doesn’t go back to the bar just in case, no matter how much Guzman or Rebekah hound him.

So he focuses on his job, on his cases, pours all of his energy into it, because _fuck,_ Samuel worked hard to get where he is and he’s not going to blow it because of one round of great sex. He’s not.

And Samuel is good at his job.

Or at least, he thinks he is.

Guzman and Rebekah ask him for his opinions about cases despite having two years more experience. Others in the office start to do the same, so much he almost feels stretched thin. Azucena even asks him to cross-examine the defences’ witnesses in some of the more interesting cases.

He preps and preps, nervous but sure, determined that he can do this, that he’s good at this, that all of this – the debt, the two years off to save up for school, was worth it. He stands up, straightens his tie, and approaches the witness stand, before proceeding to tear the defence’s witness testimony apart.

He watches as the rich jackass stumbles and blushes under his relentless questioning, as he fiddles nervously with his Rolex watch, and Samuel hears loud sighs from the defense, Lucrezia and Polo especially, when the witness admits that maybe he didn’t actually forget where he stored the documents regarding his father’s illegal activities, that maybe he intentionally destroyed them.

When he steps away from the bar, Guzman and Rebekah are smirking at him triumphantly. He glances at the defence, has to hide his smile at the defeated, infuriated looks on Lucrezia’s and Polo’s face. Carla does not share her colleagues’ flushed cheeks and tired eyes. No, she’s staring at him with something very akin to respect, holding tightly onto the golden pen in her hands, jaw clenched ever so slightly so that he almost misses it.

_I guess I’m not going to get so used to losing,_ he thinks, high-fiving Guzman’s hand under the table. When the court adjourns for the day, Carla closes her brief case with a soft _click_ and leaves the court room with a steady pace, the only sign of her discomfort being how tightly she continues to hold onto that pen as she goes.

Samuel smirks slightly, unable to hide his triumph – no, his damn near joy at having wrecked their case, at seeing these rich jackasses almost certainly going to jail.

\--

Everyone on the case goes out to celebrate at Barcelos, with Omar, Ander and Nadia joining them.

“To Samu!” Guzman exclaims, raising his drink in the air.

Samuel flushes slightly as his friends raise their drinks in the air, and it is only when Rebe nudges him that he does the same.

“To Samu,” the croon, making Samuel chuckle as he downs his drink in one gulp.

“I told you,” Rebe says. “I told you you would be good at this, Samu.”

He grins slightly, sufficiently buzzed.

“Hot shot lawyer,” she jokes.

“Hot shot _lawyers,_ ” he corrects, making her laugh.

A little bit after, Guzman’s face lightens even more.

“Look,” he says, pointing behind Samuel. “Look who came to drink away their sorrows.”

Samuel turns in his seat to find Lucrezia, Polo, some dark curly haired guy he doesn’t know, and Carla settle into a table across the bar, having changed from the clothes they wore to court. Rebe laughs loudly.

“Ah, they must be sad they didn’t fulfill their deal with the devil today,” she says, nudging his shoulder.

Samuel chuckles a little, gaze settling on Carla, who is dressed in a V-neck silver dress, and suddenly remembers—

He looks away, and downs his drink in one single go, trying to ignore the tingling in his spine.

Samuel has had a few drinks already, and he has a few drinks more over the next few hours. Nadia and Guzman disappear to the bathroom for a suspicious amount of time, and Omar and Ander begin making out with each other right at the table. Rebe leaves after this because of her Mom, and so Samuel goes to the bar for another drink, trying his best not to look over at the other table.

He leans his forearms against the bar as he tries to get the barman’s attention, and he’s not even aware that someone has come up next to him until he hears her speak.

“You ripped my witness testimony apart today,” Carla says.

Samuel tries to hide how startled he is that she approached him, how relieved he is.

He glances at her, finds her expression cool.

“I would almost say I was impressed,” she continues. “Impressed enough to offer you a job.”

Samuel can’t help but let out a laugh.

“You don’t know me at all if you think I’d ever come and work for you,” he says, raising his voice over the loud music.

She doesn’t seem surprised.

“I never thought you would,” she says. “But it’s a shame that someone of your talent will be wasted as a prosecutor.”

Samuel quirks his brows.

“Now I’m talented?” he asks. “I thought I would have to get used to losing.”

She scoffs.

“Being condescending isn’t a good look on you,” she tells him, drumming her carefully painted nails on the bar. “I’m mature enough to recognize a worthy opponent when they come.”

Samuel finally manages to get the barman’s attention, and orders another drink, Carla watching him all the while. He picks up the glass, takes a long sip.

“Can I offer you some advice?” he asks, turning back in her direction.

She doesn’t nod or shake her head, merely watches him.

Samuel leans in, chests almost touching, so close his lips graze her ear when he whispers, “You should get better at losing. Because you will. A lot.”

He pulls away, warmth tightening in his belly. Their gazes hold and Samuel wants to pull her close and kiss her senseless, but he doesn’t. Instead, he raises his glass, takes another sip.

“Have a good night, Carla,” he says, turning on his heel and returning to his table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for the amazing response to this story! I appreciate it so much. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. They aren't as long as what I'm used to, but this project is mostly for fun. I've tentatively set the chapter count at 6, but we'll see what happens. This has been fun! 
> 
> Until next time,   
> Fionakevin073

Chapter 2

Two months pass, and Samuel becomes partially convinced that that moment in the bathroom was a result of some fever dream. It scarcely feels real, no – it feels _distant,_ somehow, like some out of body experience he can’t really explain.

Well, he can explain it. She looks like a Greek goddess, and he hasn’t been laid in a while. He can explain it, but he can’t _excuse_ it, if anyone were to find out. He crossed a line. _They_ crossed a line.

Whenever Samuel thinks of the word, _they_ he cringes. There is no they.

He catches glimpses of her in courtrooms and legal buildings, as she turns the corner, or opens a door. Often enough, her focus is on her phone, face downward as she stares at her screen.

But in all honesty, Samuel is too damn tired and busy to focus on what ifs and repeats. After his success in the cross-examination, Azucena had loaded him with a bunch of other work and had sent him to observe various cases in order to refine his skills and learn from the higherups. Samuel is grateful for her faith and appreciation, but he’s exhausted.

He often forgoes meeting up with his friends in order to throw himself on his bed and pass out. He’s stressed all the time, it’s ridiculous.

Rebe laughs when she catches him in the office kitchen room yawning uncontrollably as he rubs his temples.

“You look as though you’ve aged forty years, Samu.”

“Thanks.”

“Regretting becoming a lawyer?”

“Of course not.”

“Hey, just asking.”

Samuel narrows his gaze, causing Rebe to laugh. He jumps when someone claps his shoulder.

“Samu just needs to get laid,” Guzman says, sliding into the chair beside him.

Samuel glares at him now.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m wrong.”

“You are wrong.”

“Really? When was the last time you had sex? Or went out?”

Samuel falters. He’d had sex far more recent than any of his friends knew, including Omar, but it had been two months nonetheless. His social life has dwindled drastically.

“As if you either of you weren’t swarmed when you first started,” Samuel snarks, sipping at the coffee from his thermos.

Rebe and Guzman share a look.

“Yes,” Guzman admits freely. “We were. But, if you recall, it was you who often forced us to go out when you were still at university.”

Samuel sighs, caught. 

Rebe laughs.

“Samu should visit the storage room on the top floor.”

“The top floor of what?” he squawks, as Guzman laughs with her.

“The courthouse,” his friend tells him.

“There’s a sex room at the courthouse? What is wrong with people?”

“The storage room,” Rebe supplies helpfully. “Known as a good place for lawyers to let off steam in between cases.”

Samuel does not even try to contain his horror.

“Samu would never go for it,” Guzman sighs, a playful smile on his lips. “He’s an innocent boy, remember?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Rebe grins.

“You’d never have sex in a public place, would you?”

“Jeez.” Samuel shakes his head and begins to head to his desk.

“We’re just making suggestions, Samu!” Guzman calls out after him.

“You’re both heathens,” Samuel throws over his shoulder, cheeks slightly flushed.

When he eventually makes it to his desk, in his small, closet-sized office that he’s tried his very best to stay well-kept, Samuel thinks of her then. Of them, in that bathroom, and suddenly his throat feels painfully dry. He tugs at the knot of his tie in order to breathe easier, and summarily hits his head against the table.

\--

Later, when Samuel is summoned to Azucena’s office, she eyes him quizzically.

“Why is your forehead so red?” she asks, sliding on her glasses.

Samuel shifts uncomfortably.

“Ran into a door,” he answers.

“As you say.”

She clears her throat.

“Listen, I’m assigning you to assist on the Cesare case.”

“Really?” he blurts out, unable to stop himself. He’d seen the case on the news – some mega millionaire caught laundering money. Big scandal.

A small smile graces her lips.

“Really,” she confirms. “You won’t do anything other than help the lead prosecutors collect information and prep witnesses, but I figured you’d appreciate the opportunity.”

“I-yes, of course, thank you,” Samuel says, trying his best not to beam at her.

“No need to thank me,” Azucena tells him.

When Samuel leaves the room, he finally allows the wide smile he’d been trying so hard to hide break free. This was why he had become a prosecutor, to see rich pricks like these go to jail. For a few steps, he is walking on air, and then the enormity of the situation hits him. He can’t fail.

Anxiety and nervousness hit him all at once so suddenly he freezes in his steps.

“Shit,” he swears. “Shit.”

\--

Rebe treats him to Starbucks around the corner after she sees the panicked look on his face.

“Samu, you’re not going to wreck this,” she tells him, taking a bite out of her muffin. “You’ve crushed every case you’ve worked on. Hell, you’re the reason we finally beat that Marquessita.”

It still surprises Samuel to learn that Carla is a daughter of a Marquess – and somehow, it wasn’t surprising too. Rich people.

“Yes, but this one—”

“Hits a little close to home.”

“Yeah,” he says, throat constricting. Rebe’s mother had won the lottery, elevating them from rags to riches, but Samuel’s family hadn’t been so lucky. The rich guy who had done a shitty job of renovating Samuel’s first high school because he was high on cocaine - resulting in several roofs falling and students getting injured – wasn’t even charged. And Nano—

Samuel shakes his head. It won’t do him any good to think about Nano.

“Fuck,” Rebe swears, forehead scrunching. “What’s she doing here?”

Samuel turns in his seat to stare at the line only to find Carla ordering. She’s dressed in a black blazer and skirt, her hair pulled back into a low bun.

“Samu,” Rebe whispers harshly. “Don’t be so obvious!”

He turns back.

“Sorry,” he says, lifting his hands defensively. “I was curious.”

“I swear, she just shows up everywhere, it’s insane.”

“It’s a small city.”

Rebe is still scowling. “Unfortunately.”

They pick at their muffins in silence for a few minutes. Samuel strains out of the corner of eye to see any sight of blonde hair.

“Listen, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Keep an eye on my stuff, yeah?”

“Of course,” Samuel says, watching her leave.

He takes a sip of his latte, and tries his best not to look around the store to see if –

“I heard you were assigned to the Cesare case,” Carla tells him, appearing at his side.

“How on earth do you know about that?” he asks incredulously.

She shrugs, slips into Rebe’s seat.

“That’s taken,” Samuel protests.

“I’m not staying long. Just keeping the seat warm.”

They eye each other a moment.

“How did you find out about that?” he asks again.

“My father is his lawyer,” Carla responds, taking a sip of her drink. “He mentioned the recent update. Though you know you’re not going to be leading, right?”

“Of course, I do,” he answers crossly.

“It’s going to be years before you get the really interesting cases – before you get to try them and act in court. You know this, too?”

“I know,” Samuel replies, shrugging.

A small, humourless smile graces her lips as she crosses her legs. Samuel refuses to look at them.

“And you don’t care,” she points out.

“No. I like keeping my soul intact, thank you.”

Carla laughs, though not necessarily out of amusement.

“That’s a bit of a black and white way to look at the world, don’t you think?”

“Why do you care how I look at the world?” he barks back. He hates this. Hates how easily she rattles him.

“I don’t,” she replies eventually. “I just hate seeing wasted talent.”

Carla drums her perfectly shaped nails on the table. Samuel eyes her curiously, wondering what she expects him to say in response. She opens her mouth, before her gaze flickers to something behind his shoulder.

“Your friend is coming,” Carla announces, rising. She smooths out her skirt with one hand. “Good luck on the case – you’re going to need it.”

Samuel watches with his eyes as she leaves the store.

“What was that about?” Rebe asks, touching his shoulder on her way to her spot. “She trying to get into your head?”

“Yeah,” Samuel replies vaguely, finishing his latte with a quick gulp.

“Don’t let her, Samuel.” Rebe’s eyes are full of urgency and concern.

“I won’t.”

Samuel tries to smile.

“I won’t,” he repeats.

\--

Unlike Guzman and Rebe, the lead prosecutors on the Cesare case seem intent on busting his ass. Azucena is kind enough to lessen his other workload, but Samuel finds himself constantly looking for legal loopholes and scoring through documents and the accused’s accounts, trying to establish a narrative.

He sees his friends sporadically – even more so than before, and Samuel by god, he has moments where he really regrets being a lawyer more than anything in the world. He finds himself in the law library on a Friday night, like the loser he is, searching through texts for anything, anything that will help nail this case and—

Samuel does a double take when he looks across the room, because Carla is there.

“What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath.

It’s late at night, the sun having set, and the library is almost empty. After all, not many linger in Madrid’s law library on a Friday night. Or ever.

But she’s there. She’s at a table near the corner of the room, half obscured by a bookshelf. The desk lamp casts her face in a yellow glow. Samuel watches as she bites down on her lip as she scans the document in her hands.

_Leave it alone,_ he thinks, shaking his head. _Leave it alone._

He rubs a hand over his face as he tries his hardest to focus, but it’s like there’s a prickle up his spine that he can’t quite get rid of. Defeated, he returns his books to where he found them and goes to pick up his briefcase. As he is about to leave, he pauses, glances back over his shoulder to find her studying away.

Samuel checks his phone for the time, swears under his breath when he sees its close to ten pm.

Before he can think better of it – a habit whenever he’s around her – he walks over.

“Hi,” he says.

Carla glances up at him, the scribble of her pen coming to a halt.

“Come to spy?” she asks crisply, leaning back into her chair, posture poker straight.

Privately, Samuel wonders at it, but now isn’t the time.

“Spy?” he questions. “We aren’t on any cases together.”

She sets her pen down and closes her book.

“False,” she corrects. “My father asked for my assistance with the Cesare case.”

“And you’re here studying,” he states.

She raises an eyebrow.

“That has been known to happen,” she comments.

“I just would never picture you here, that’s all.”

“And where exactly are you picturing me?”

Samuel swallows as he stares down at her, recognizing the challenge in her expression.

_Lie,_ his brain hisses at him. _Lie lie lie—_

“You know where,” he replies softly, heat pooling in his stomach.

Her eyes darken.

“Yes,” she says evenly, carefully beginning to put away her things. “I suppose I do.”

Samuel takes a small step back when she pushes back her chair. They’re suddenly so close he can feel her body heat radiating off of her.

“You left your book,” he points out, staring her right in the eye.

“The librarian will put it away.”

“Typical.”

“Typical?”

“Rich people.”

She chuckles.

“Somehow, Samuel,” she leans forward and breathes into his ear. “I don’t think you mind too much.”

He pulls back a little so their noses almost brush.

“You don’t know what I mind.”

“I think I have a few ideas.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to know you in order to fuck you.”

Ah. There it is.

“No,” he agrees quietly, voice low. “I suppose you don’t.”

Casting a quick glance around them to ensure that no one is there, Samuel grabs a hold of her hand and leads her further into the library. Their steps are brisk as they move past bookcase after bookcase until they reach the end of the library, near some section no one ever bothers to check.

“Been here before?” she asks, in between the furious kisses they are pressing to each other’s lips.

“Popular place for law students to fuck amid study sessions,” he replies, sucking onto her exposed collarbone.

The feel of her nails in his hair makes him hiss and soon Samuel is tugging down her tights and bunching up her skirt as she works on his belt, pulling down his pants and boxers so he can—

He fucks her with her legs wrapped around his waist and face buried in her neck to muffle his grunts. His hair is mused, shirt wrinkled, items spread randomly across them as he balances his thrusts against the bookshelf, trying his best not to make any books fall out of place.

“Fuck,” he swears, biting onto her earlobe. The pleasure he gets from hearing her breath hitch is beyond words. Anything to make her feel, to make her feel good, to make her come, to make her feel as good as he is right now, buried in her to the hilt—

He kisses her when she finishes in order to silence any unexpected sounds, and soon enough he is following after her, burying his face in her shoulder.

_Fuck,_ he thinks, pulling out of her, supporting her when her legs hit the ground. Her tights lay on the floor, partially ripped.

“Shit,” he murmurs, putting himself away before bending down to pick it up. “I didn’t realize I’d ripped them. I’m sorry.” He hands her the tights after she finishes buttoning up her shirt and fixing her skirt.

“I can buy you a new pair if you want,” he offers.

“With what the government pays you I don’t think you could afford it,” she tells him, shoving the tights away in her handbag.

They stand there for a moment, and Samuel, for the life of him, does not know what to say. He barely knows her, and he’s fucked her twice (in public settings!). His cum is probably running down her legs right now – since they had no condoms and she’s on birth control.

_Jesus Christ,_ he thinks to himself.

“I guess this is a good way to blow off steam,” he hears himself say.

_Idiot._

“You should wait five minutes before you follow me,” Carla tells him.

Samuel glances at his phone and swears.

“Is it okay if I leave first?” he asks. “I need to catch the bus since it’s dodgy to go on the Metro right now. The last one leaves in fifteen minutes.”

“What makes you think I don’t use public transport?”

“You’re the daughter of a Marquess, Carla. You most likely have a driver.”

Samuel pauses.

“Are you going to be okay getting to your transport? It’s late, I can wait—”

“That won’t be necessary,” she interrupts. “Go, Samuel. I’ll be fine.”

“Carla—”

“Go.”

He watches her a moment before hurrying out, frantic to catch the bus so he doesn’t have to take a taxi or try taking the metro so late.

\--

Month’s pass, and Samuel is finally assistant co-counsel to Guzman and Rebe again for a case on some spoiled rich kid stealing money from several of his neighbours in order to fund his cocaine habit.

And Samuel—

There are few things that piss him off more than some entitled brat getting away with crimes the less fortunate are sent to prison for years and so when he’s finally – _finally_ – given the chance to cross-examine the witness, he makes sure to rip him to shreds.

The nineteen-year-old prep boy is well-prepared. After all, Carla and Lucrezia are his defence. Samuel is not sure if he’s imagining the eyes burying into his back as he works on rattling the witness, but he doesn’t turn to check despite the multiple objections from the defence.

“Your honour, the prosecution is being border-line aggressive and unprofessional to my client—”

“Aggressive? Getting the accused to admit the truth is not a crime, your honour – it’s not my fault the defence failed to prepare him properly—”

“Jesus,” the judge sighs, rubbing his chin. “You guys can try being more civil to each other, you know?”

Samuel locks his jaw and glances at Carla, only to find her staring back at him, a small smirk curving her lips.

“We’ll try,” Samuel agrees severely.

They catch each other in the elevator, with no one else in sight. Samuel stares directly at his blurred reflection, tries and resists the urge to glance at Carla, who is standing right by the buttons. He waits for her to push the one to the ground floor.

“I think we should probably try and work out some conflict resolutions, don’t you?” she asks.

When Samuel looks at her, he finds her lips curved into a playful smirk.

“Oh,” he comments lightly, folding his arms in front of his chest. “What did you have in mind?”

He watches as she presses the button to the top floor, staring at him as if daring him to ask her to stop. He doesn’t.

They fuck in the storage closet, because of course they do.

“I think we’ve sorted out our issues, don’t you?” Carla asks, mid-fuck.

Samuel hums in agreement, too distracted to reply. 

“Where were you?” Guzman asks, after they return from recess.

Samuel smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt as they walk to their table.

“Took a walk,” he replies. “Needed to cool down.”

Carla walks by at the exact time, and Samuel doesn’t even want to know if she heard him, instead focuses on opening his briefcase.

\--

Samuel is sitting alone at Starbucks, replying to Omar when someone slides into the chair opposite him.

When he glances up to find Carla, he’s hardly even surprised.

“Hi,” he says, putting his phone away.

“Your court skills need refinement,” she announces.

“Excuse me?”

“You sometimes speak so quickly it’s hard to understand your questions,” she continues, as if he hadn’t even spoken.

Carla is as put-together as ever. Hair laser-straight, makeup-perfectly done, clad in yet another skirt and blazer. He briefly wonders how many she owns.

“I’m sorry,” he says, once he realizes how preposterous this is. “But did I ask?”

Her gaze narrows slightly.

“You should learn to accept criticism.”

“I thought I had to learn how to lose.”

“That too, but you still need to listen.”

“I’m sorry, are you giving me tips on how to ensure a guilty verdict for your client?”

She waves her hand dismissively.

“Even if he is found guilty – which he won’t-- he’ll do a few hours of community service, nothing more.”

Samuel grits his teeth. He remembers now why he loathes defence lawyers so freaking much.

“You don’t know that,” he snaps.

“But I do,” she replies. “And you know it too.”

Samuel chuckles darkly.

“He’ll get away with it because you’ll help him,” he mutters.

“That’s my job.”

It’s hard for Samuel to reconcile his attraction to her – because unfortunately that is always present whenever he’s with her – and the growing frustration in his gut.

“Right,” he says shortly.

When they fuck in her car (it has black tinted windows, because of course it does) it feels more like a battle than it ever has. Every kiss feels like a contest. If he bruises her with his lips, she repays him by scratching his back so thoroughly it is as though he was attacked by a cat. It’s a competition over who finishes first.

Samuel raises one of her legs over his shoulder so it’s deeper, and the muffled groans they both let out makes them both finish at the same time, contest be damned. The air in the car is musky with sweat and sex, and Samuel—

Usually, he feels satiated after they’ve had sex. Relieved. Pleasured. Satisfied.

Now, he feels almost detached from the situation, unable to think about anything other than the case and that smug rich prick she has no issue with defending.

“I should go,” he says, hurrying to fix his clothes. “I’ll see you in court, Carla.”

\--

“Samu,” Omar tells him. “You need get laid.”

It’s the first time in almost a month Samuel has been able to go out for more than an hour with his friends and he’s more than pleasantly buzzed as he stands on the balcony with his childhood friend.

For a brief, drunken moment, Samuel is tempted to tell him about Carla – about the bar, the library, the storage room, her car—but the moment fades just as fast.

“I’ve been busy,” Samuel defends weakly.

“You’re a hotshot lawyer now,” Omar exclaims. “You should be attracting girls like magnets.”

“Did you seriously just say that?”

Omar rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean. Getting your head out of case files will be good for you, Samu. You need it. My friend at work recently broke up with her boyfriend – she’s only looking for something casual, and she’s hot too. Can I give her your number?”

Samuel pauses. It sounds like a good idea. He should be rooting for it. Having sex with someone regularly – and he actually has their number. But he doesn’t want to. And it’s not just because he’s busy.

Samuel gulps quietly.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers.

\--

Two weeks after he last saw her, Samuel is given the surprise of his life when she turns up at his office.

Azucena warns him before he finds Carla at his door, something about new evidence and a plea deal, but it shocks Samuel all the same, to see her where he works.

“Lovely place you have here,” she offers, stepping into the room. He follows her, closes the door behind them with a soft sound.

He watches as she takes a step towards his desk – not that she can step very far, anyway, the room is that place.

“Thanks,” he replies evenly. “Azucena said something about a plea deal?”

She hums non-committedly.

“No need for one.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You and I are like chalk and cheese,” she declares, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“Right.” 

“If we keep on doing this, we will all get hurt. There’s nothing good to come out of it.”

She’s moved so close their chests almost brush.

“You came all the way to my place of work to tell me that?” he asks. “Could have just texted.”

He pauses, remembers she doesn’t actually have his number. “Or let me know the next time we see each other, because this is city is too damn small.”

Carla moves even more so she can link her arms around his neck.

“Oh Samuel,” she sighs, dragging her fingers up and down the back of his neck as she stares deep into his eyes. “This is a game. Don’t forget that.”

Unmoved, he steps away.

“I like my job,” he tells her. “I love my job. This—” he gestures between them. “This is outside of that. It has to be.”

Something flickers in her eyes that he can’t quite recognize.

“You know better than me that lawyers on opposing sides can’t share or spy on information, especially outside of the courtroom.”

“I’m aware,” she snaps.

Sighing, Samuel runs a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I don’t want anything from you,” he says. “The sex is good – it’s great. That’s all this is, I know that. But I’m not something you can just pull to the side and fuck when you’re bored.”

“You do the same to me too.”

“I know that,” Samuel tells her. “But maybe we can actually have sex in a bed the next time. Scheduled.” He remembers Omar’s offer, and something tightens inside him

Carla folds her arms in front of her chest.

“You’re not coming to my house,” she says coolly. “That’s not what this is.”

Samuel nods slowly.

“Okay.”

He heads to his desk and pulls out some of his documents, begins to sort through them.

He does not look up when the door opens and closes behind her with a soft _click,_ even if he feels flickers of disappointment deep in his stomach.

\--

The boy is found guilty, but the judge, citing his lack of criminal record and demonstrations of ‘true remorse’ – pure _bullshit_ as far as Samuel’s concerned – sentences him to a hundred hours of community service and a rehabilitation program. The latter Samuel understands. The no-mention of this incident on his criminal record—

It infuriates him, more than anything. And makes him sad.

He thought he could change things, which maybe gives him a God complex, but he doesn’t care. It’s so damn frustrating he could punch a hole through a wall.

He begs off going out with Guzman and Rebe in order to return home and sleep.

He makes his way down to the metro tracks, trying to shake off the weight on his shoulders, the feeling that he _failed failed failed—_

He halts in his steps at the sight of Carla waiting by the ticket machine, eyeing her surroundings with contempt. It’s probably the first time she’s been near the metro anyway. If not for the businessmen and other like-minded people, she would have been out-of-place. She still is, but that’s just because he knows her.

Samuel approaches her slowly because well, he doesn’t think she’s waiting for anyone else.

She spots him when he comes, and he notices she’s holding onto her bag so tightly her knuckles are snow white. He almost laughs at the sight.

“You did good today,” she offers. “Not many could have secured even a guilty verdict.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Samuel is distantly aware of the metro leaving but finds he doesn’t care. He’ll just catch the next one.

“What are you doing here?” he asks finally.

She doesn’t answer and well, she doesn’t really have to.

Carla moves so she is standing right next to him, and gestures coolly towards the stairs.

“Are you coming?” she questions finally. “To my apartment?”

Samuel knows it’s the closest she’ll ever get to admitting she changed her mind about the whole bed thing, but surprisingly enough it doesn’t bother him.

He nods, and they climb up the stairs side by side.

“Though,” he begins, as she leads him to her car. “I do think I should probably get your number. It’s long overdue.”

Surprisingly enough, Carla laughs. It’s the first time it’s not done out of bemusement or mockery or part of the game between them.

It fades as quickly as it came.

“I’ll see what we can do,” she replies, glancing at him, expression inscrutable.

Samuel nods, and they continue the rest of the walk silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this! Let me know what you think. kudos and comments are everything! :) 
> 
> If you're wondering how they managed to have sex in her car in like the afternoon, I just remembered in the show how they had sex in her car at school. Like how?? but I borrowed that ability not to get caught lmao

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are everything! <3


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